Part of a field of 2,500 hands planted in Parliament Square by Hands Up For Peace, an anti-war campaign set up by school students to protest at the invasion of Iraq. Photograph: Philip Wolmuth/ Philip Wolmuth

The day war broke out, we walked out of class. For students across the country, it was the culmination of a historic campaign of demos, sit-ins and marches. In our particular inner-city London school, we had been building one part of that movement. Too young to express opposition through the ballot box, we were desperate to find another way to get our voices heard. So after school and during lunch breaks we started collecting hand prints, each one decorated by a young person with their name, age and a message for peace. When war was finally announced, we took over 2,000 of them down to Westminster and planted them outside parliament.

It was before Facebook took off, but our campaign still went viral. Hands had been flooding in from across the country, tiny ones, giant ones and some decorated with sequins and feathers, each one representing a different person. We handed out cheap photocopied fliers advertising the campaign during the marches, and spread the word through Woodcraft and other community groups. The result was thousands of handprints raised in a macabre field in the piercing March sunshine. A 50ft banner proclaimed, Hands Up for Peace. For a moment, it felt like the whole world stopped.

Our generation growing up in the 1990s had never experienced major economic storms or political power struggles. We had our problems of course, but there was a sense that things had always been going up and would continue to grow. Tony Blair was leading Britpop politics and Thatcher was an evil character in a faded magazine we didn't remember in office. The City was booming and laying golden eggs for shiny new public investments. Our state school was made into a technology college and was given cash and computers. The war was our first taste of political injustice on a national scale, and it slammed us into the brute realities of power.

For many, the Iraq war was a demonstration that power could ultimately bypass any civil protest. Two million people came out marching and 2,000 young hands were raised, and they were overridden. Of course not every protest can or should be successful, but this one felt defeated by something disingenuous. The left was supposed to be the party of peace and democracy, now it was the one misleading us into conflict for reasons that kept changing. It marked the beginning of the disenchantment with party politics in general, and with Labour in particular. The introduction of right-on citizenship classes to the curriculum now seemed hollow. This cynicism has since been compounded by the expenses scandal and the financial crash.

Of course I cannot speak for all young people. There is no more a settled view among them than there is among all middle-aged people. The polling data is not detailed or clear enough to be of use. We did interact with thousands of young people by collecting their handprints, but I do not know what they think 10 years on. For some of my friends, it provided a rare chance to have their voices heard by a media who suddenly wanted to interview young activists, and inspired them to do more. One young man who went to serve in Iraq said it made him more likely to vote but less likely to trust. These views are subtle and often paradoxical and they cannot be boxed, but for the people I know, the effect on their attitude to politics was profoundly negative.

I don't believe it is a coincidence that the activism that has followed the Iraq war has changed. We have never had a major peaceful demonstration of that size again. The protests against the cuts for example have been surprisingly muted given the scope and scale of the pain faced. Instead we have seen the rise of more fragmented, targeted activism. UK Uncut, Climate Camp and Occupy are all examples of smaller, harder, more determined movements that are more realistic about the brutality of power. They are more dedicated and ruthless about their targets, and they frequently appeal over the heads of parliament to the media. They are less keen to play by the rules of a neat peaceful demonstration or create pretty fields of hands. In some cases, like the student protests in 2010, actions have spilled over into violence. This cannot be justified, but for a young person who felt frustrated and ignored in 2003, other means feel exhausted. If we started another unpopular war, say in Iran, I doubt the protests would be as peaceful.

The young people of this generation are living through very different times to those in the early 2000s. Britain is no longer flush with cash for extravagant moral crusades or adventures for oil. Recession has replaced boom and a deep cynicism of politicians has set in. The consumerist happy-go-lucky days are gone and now young people are fighting for exam results against a feeling that even if they do well, they may end up on the scrapheap because the jobs just aren't there. They do not fight the morality of wars in foreign lands, but struggle every day through domestic realities. Many are too young to remember the Iraq protests, but the cynicism has seeped in through older brothers and sisters. It worries me that there are no handprints going up for jobs. These young people need organisation and power like we did, but it feels like everyone is on their own.

•We are hoping to display the 2,000 hands in a gallery space to mark 10 years since the Hands up for Peace campaign. At the moment the handprints are sitting in a dusty garage. If anyone does know of a space where they can be exhibited, please do get in touch in the thread below